


Club Contingency

by FreyaOdin



Series: Synchronicity [4]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Kink, Musicians, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 09:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10241564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin/pseuds/FreyaOdin
Summary: Mitch DJs at a club. It goes both horribly off the rails and exactly right.





	

 

The night has not gone well for Mitch.

Despite the fact that it’s Monday, Scion is hopping. While Mitch not-so-humbly believes some of it is due to his growing reputation as a DJ, it’s mainly the second anniversary celebration of the club’s opening that’s driving the numbers.

Still, it’s a great opportunity for him; there are several high level celebs in the house that he’s personally noticed, probably more that he hasn’t, and the floor in general is responding brilliantly. He’s chosen his tracks well, tweaked his set list just right after getting the pulse of the crowd, and he’s currently juggling like a motherfucking beast, if he does say so himself.

The problem is security.  Or rather the lack of it.

Oh, there are bouncers. Mitch has seen them break up two altercations already that could have lead to something ugly if the drunken idiots involved had been left to themselves.  And there’s a guy who seems dedicated to ensuring some famous actor Mitch can’t remember the name of stays safe all evening.

But security isn’t doing a damn thing to keep people the hell away from him and his equipment. He’s flagged down an employee twice so far to demand they keep people away from the booth, and precisely nothing has improved either time. No bouncer coming over to enforce his space. No fucking velvet ropes or retractable belts across the entrances. Not even a text to say they’ll get around to it when they feel like it.

The head of security told him it was the DJ’s responsibility to keep the booth clear—which just no—and if he didn’t like it to take it up with the owner. And the owner, as well as the general manager, had both been unavailable during the brief break he took between sets, apparently schmoozing with some VIP, and hadn’t been heard from since. And without their input, no one else has been willing or able to help him.

So he’s having to deal with assholes jostling him while asking stupid questions about what’s on his laptop screen, women leaning over his gear to accentuate cleavage he couldn’t be less interested in, and morons waving beers way too close to everything and getting pissy when he orders them to back off.

It’s annoying, distracting, and nerve-wracking by turns. And it’s getting worse as the night wears on and the people get drunker.

He fucking hates it. The club itself is high end and the clientele is responsive to his music, but he can’t deal with the stress and lack of respect. He doesn’t give a fuck how big of an opportunity this is, he’s not playing here again.

And then, right after he demands help again from an overworked server who probably has no more sway with the head of security than Mitch does, some fucking socialite with more money than brains spills her damn tangerine appletini with a twist, or whatever-the-fuck it is, all over Mitch’s left-hand deck.

Mitch freezes in shock for a moment, watching the drink flow over and around the jog dial and drip into the tempo slider, before reality kicks in and he’s swearing and yanking power and USB cables out of the back of the deck before the whole thing short-circuits, destroying itself and possibly deafening everyone in the place in the process.

It’s a struggle, but he does manage to remember that it’s not socially acceptable to punch stupid drunk D-Listers in the face, particularly women, no matter how much he currently wants to.

Instead, he grabs the first absorbent thing he can find—his brand new amethyst ASOS sweater, which he sincerely hopes will come clean, but if not is an acceptable sacrifice—and starts frantically dabbing at the console while he switches the master audio to the playlist he’d used between sets earlier in the night. It’s not the smoothest transition; he manages to fade one song into the other but doesn’t bother trying to match beats. But he does get music that doesn’t need his active participation going, which is the entire point.

His next move is to detach the deck from the rest of the console—his mixer seems unscathed, thank fuck—and flip it over in an attempt to drain as much of the fucking sugar and citric acid infested fluid out as he can. He kind of wants to cry when what seems like half a gallon of pours out of every orifice of his wounded baby.

And oh look, the manager is finally making his way over. That’s fucking great.

***

_Mitch’s weight is on his elbows and Scott’s leaning over him, braced on strong, straight arms. He shifts his hips, thrusting gently and Mitch arches into it, both to help get the angle right and because he knows, with the few brain cells he can still cobble together, that he looks fucking amazing like this._

_Scott certainly appreciates it, if his sharp inhale is anything to go by. “Fuck.” A warm palm smooths all the way down the line of Mitch’s spine and up his flank, coming to rest with fingers spread wide over his ribs. “Was going to let you relax and take it, but you’re far too pretty like this.”_

_Mitch is confused, especially when Scott stops thrusting. “What?”_

_The hand on his side slides down to his hip and squeezes before settling onto the mattress beside them. “Fuck yourself on me, Mitch.” Scott reaches forward and entwines their fingers with his other hand, pressing Mitch’s firmly into the mattress. “Get yourself off on my cock.”_

_Mitch isn’t sure what’s expected of him, can’t quite process Scott’s demand into a plan, but even as his mind stutters his body knows what it wants. If Scott’s hips won’t move then his have to. He starts rocking, his entire torso rolling in waves that push him back onto Scott’s cock. He grunts softly each time he manages to graze his prostate and soon enough he’s found just the right angle to achieve it with every undulation._

_“Christ,” Scott says breathlessly. “The line of your back. You’re so beautiful. I wish I could draw. Or sculpt. Anything. Fuck, you should be in a museum.”_

_No he shouldn’t. He should be right here, fucking himself just like this. He can’t do this in a museum; he’d get arrested. And then he wouldn’t have Scott’s fat cock inside him anymore and that would be a tragedy. He speeds up, driving himself back with more and more force. It’s so good, feels so good that eventually his arms give out and he’s suddenly face first in his pillow. He arches his back more deeply to try to regain his angle and leverage, and whimpers when he fails._

_But then Scott’s groaning and bending over him, blanketing him with all his warm skin and tense muscles. He wraps his other hand around Mitch’s free one and uses his knees to force Mitch’s legs farther apart. Then he’s thrusting into him, hard and frantic. The angle is great, fantastic, and Mitch gasps and moans with the sheer pleasure of it. Scott’s breath is hot against the back of his neck, and his hands are holding him down, and his cock is pounding into him, and Mitch feels safe and warm and coddled in a way he thinks he may have been craving his whole life. He can feel his orgasm building, just from the pressure on his prostate and the friction of his cock against the sheets. He writhes with it, strains against Scott’s hold and shudders when it stays firm._

_But then Scott’s gasping in his ear, “Shit, baby, you feel so good. I can’t—” and he’s biting down on the back of Mitch’s neck, sucking and groaning as his hips stutter and press and hold. He’s coming, Mitch can tell, a surge of p_ _ride flowing through him even as he whines at his own orgasm slipping away._

_“Please.” The word leaves his mouth without his permission or thought. “Please.”_

_Scott’s hips jerk twice more, grinding down into him and a kiss is pressed into his neck, gentle and tender where teeth had been harsh a moment ago. “God, Mitch.” And then Scott’s warmth is gone, and his cock is gone, and Mitch is spinning, flipped over, manhandled until he’s sprawled face up on the bed, empty and desperate and cold._

_It’s a shock and Mitch flails a bit, emotionally and physically. But it doesn’t last because his cock is suddenly engulfed in a warm, wet mouth, and blunt fingers are entering him, crooking and pressing in exactly the right way. And then Mitch’s vision is sparking and his body’s convulsing and he’s screaming at the strength of the orgasm that rips through him._

***

His conversation with the manager is brief and angry and involves Mitch once more stretching his ability to _not_ punch idiots in the face. The gist of it is he’s not happy that Mitch is taking another ‘break’ and replaying a song he used earlier, while Mitch isn’t happy—read: is incandescently enraged—with management’s negligence leading to the breakdown and possible destruction of his beloved and very expensive equipment.

However, the manager does have one solid point. There are too many famous people here, some of them from the music industry, for Mitch to just quit before finishing the night. Which means he’s going to have to suck it up and figure it out. Which he does after getting security to actually start enforcing some of his motherfucking space.

_Finally._

He dives into his software and flips on instant doubles, which lets him change his dead deck to internal mode. It gets him going again, crossfading in and out and mixing in another record with his remaining turntable. But it’s frustrating and awkward and he doesn’t feel like he’s performing anywhere close to his usual standard. He makes a mental note to practice more like this in a less stressful environment, and meanwhile tries to figure out something more creative.

He’s knows his library well enough to pull some more songs that are easier to mix like this than his prepped track list, and that at least lets him feel closer to confident. He eventually pulls out his Midi Fighter, a finger drumming controller, and mashes up some Skrillex, then some Zedd, Carl Cox, Steve Aoki. And when the crowd reacts really well to one of his own compositions, remixed on the fly, he goes _in_ , swapping back and forth between three of his more popular tracks from his YouTube channel, boosting the bass and altering the tempo wherever necessary to make them far more danceable.

Finally, with just a few minutes left in the set, but sincerely running out of ideas, he pulls up a song he’s been working on, one Scott kindly recorded vocals for him to sample. He’s never performed it before, hasn’t posted it anywhere. It’s not even finished. But he has a mapping for it, and he knows it like the back of his hand, so it’s easy enough to loop and remix into a decent dance track.

And if Scott’s voice blasting through the club makes him feel better than he has all evening, well, no one needs to know. The best part is the crowd reacts to it really, really well.

He’s done shortly thereafter, and he’s really fucking pleased with himself. Still pissed and frustrated and worried about his turntable, but really pleased. At least until the manager calls him into the back for a ‘discussion’ with the owner as the club is closing.

***

_It’s the crinkle of cellophane and the smell of chocolate that starts to rouse Mitch from his blissed out, sated state. He opens his eyes to find a still-naked Scott and an opened heart-shaped box of high-end candy lying on the bed beside him._

_He quirks an eyebrow. “Really?”_

_Scott smiles sheepishly. “Yes, it’s a cliché. I couldn’t help myself. Eat it.”_

_Mitch does, making sure to ‘accidently’ suck Scott’s finger into his mouth along with the chocolate. Scott hums appreciatively and leans down to kiss him. That’s not exactly a deterrent, so Mitch keeps it up, sucking and licking each treat off of Scott’s fingers and then lips. After they polish off most of the box, Scott tosses it on the night stand and cups Mitch’s face with both hands, licking and sucking in turn and generally owning Mitch’s mouth in a way that makes him whimper with need and slide right back into his own head._

_Scott eventually slows their kiss and cuddles him close. “You’re tired. You should get some more sleep.”_

_“Mmm hmm,” Mitch agrees. “You should fuck me again first.”_

_“Insatiable.” Mitch can hear the smile in Scott’s voice. “You can’t possibly get it up again yet.”_

_“Nope. Do it anyway.”_

_“I’m flattered_ _that you think I can.” He’s laughing outright now. “If you’re a good boy and get some sleep for me, I’ll fuck you as soon as you wake up.”_

_That’d be nice. But Mitch has a better idea. His hips twist just thinking about it. “Or you could fuck me awake.”_

_Scott makes a weird sound, somewhere between a groan and a whimper. A hand smooths through Mitch’s hair. “Mitch, look at me.”_

_He opens his eyes with some effort. Scott’s peering down at him. He looks…he looks unsure?_

_“I need to know you’re fully with me for a second. Come up.”_

_He already is, mostly, but it still takes him a minute to understand Scott’s concern. What he’s offering skirts the usual boundaries of consent and they haven’t played with that before, haven’t even really discussed it. “I mean, only if you want to. If it bothers you, I’m not interested.”_

_“Oh, I want to,” Scott says. His hand cups Mitch’s jaw, blue eyes searching. “But are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you. Or scare you.”_

_So. Very. Sure. “Scott, I’m so turned on by the just the idea that I might actually die.”_

_“Yeah?” Scott’s smiling now, biting his lip as his fingers trace Mitch’s face. “One ‘no’ and you’ll end it, whether you mean to or not. I won’t be waiting for a safeword when you’re half-asleep.”_

_That’s logical. And reassuring. Mitch nods and then bites his own lip. “Can I get a goodnight kiss?”_

_Why yes. It appears that he can._

***

Mitch slams the trunk of his car closed, back to incandescently angry. After a performance that he, personally, considered practically miraculous given the circumstances, the fucking owner of the fucking club complained that his set was ‘unpredictable’ and stiffed him half his fee. Apparently it hadn’t mattered that it was negligence on the part of management that lead to the equipment failure, nor that the patrons had been hyped as fuck once Mitch had really started improvising. No, it mattered that it wasn’t exactly as requested, which was apparently a cardinal sin at Scion.

And of course the owner did all this bitching while bracketed by two of the giant, fucking useless bouncers who’d ignored Mitch all night, leaving him unable to do much more than squawk his outrage.

He sends an angry text to his agent once he’s in the car. He wants the rest of his money and he’s sure as shit never playing here again. In fact, he’s going to make damn sure no one else worth mentioning ever does either. He spends the drive home muttering to himself, mostly shady-ass comebacks he should have thrown at the manager, but either didn’t think of at the time, or decided he liked his face in its current configuration too much to say. He tries to find something on the radio to calm himself down, but everything just pisses him off even harder.

He lugs his equipment into his apartment, kicking the door closed behind him, and then spends two hours taking his sticky deck apart, rinsing everything with water to try to get the residual gunk out. He then leaves the disembowelled remains strewn across his dining room table to air dry. It’s probably too late; the citric acid has probably already fucked some of the circuitry. But he has to try.

It’s almost 6 am before he finally gets to sleep, only to be awakened at what his clock tells him is 7:30 by a knock on the door. It’s Mr. Zardari, an old Pakistani man who often comes to Mitch for help whenever his computer does something weird, like fails to be plugged in. Mitch usually doesn’t mind; the old guy has a good sense of humor and always brings him a big container of gluten-free treats every Eid, Diwali, and Christmas, so he normally considers it a good deal.

But Mitch can’t quite summon his usual degree of politeness and manages to escape with an “I only just got off work and I haven’t slept. Can it wait for another time?” He gets back to his bedroom and flops face first into his pillow, passing out almost immediately, sleeping like the dead.

At least until Mr. Zardari knocks again at ten.

Mitch drags his ass out of bed, stomps his way across his apartment, and yanks the door open. He’s completely and utterly out of fucks to give, even for old men who’ve never said an unkind word to him. “Look, I _cannot_ deal with this today. Would you _please_ just come back tomor—”

It’s right about then that Mitch belatedly notices it isn’t his 5’2 elderly neighbor at the door, but a 6’3 blond wearing a button-up and jacket and a nice pair of jeans, carrying a single red rose and a backpack.

A 6’3 blond whose facial expression is rapidly fading from happy to bewildered to hurt.

It’s also right about then that Mitch remembers it’s Valentine’s Day. And that he’s no longer single. And that he made plans for Scott to pick him up at ten so they could see an art exhibit and spend the day together. And hey, guess what time it is now?

Fuck.

Oh look, he found one.

“Uh…okay.” Scott’s brow is furrowed and his shoulders are slumping, but he’s forced his mouth into an unnatural half-smile that goes nowhere near his eyes. “I’ll just...I’ll go?”

“No, I’m sorry! Not you. I just…I had a bad night and I haven’t slept much and I thought you were someone…” Shit, it’s their first Valentine’s together. “I forgot.”

Jesus, he’s really nailing this whole boyfriend thing.

Scott still looks bewildered, but there’s a bit of concern filtering in. “Anything I can do?” He blinks. “Assuming I can come in?”

Mitch shuts his eyes in an effort to block out his own stupidity. Then he steps back and opens the door wider, allowing Scott to enter rather than keeping him stranded at the entrance like an unwanted salesperson.

Worst. Boyfriend. Ever.

***

_Mitch stirs as his knees are gently spread apart and pressed back, but doesn’t really wake until a blunt cock is pushing into him. He gasps and squirms at the shock of it, moaning as he’s stretched wide. But once he realizes exactly what’s happening,_ _remembers exactly what he wanted, he sighs and relaxes_ _into it. He’s loose from earlier and can feel the cool slide of fresh lube on the condom, but it still burns as Scott bottoms out in only a few long glides._

_It’s…fuck, it’s amazing._

_It’s even more so when he opens his eyes, body still absorbing the last of Scott’s initial thrusts, to find Scott looming over him, bottom lip tucked between his teeth and eyes darkened with lust. “Fuck, Mitch.” He stills for the most part, just rocking his hips slightly and letting Mitch adjust. “You okay?”_

_“Yeah.” He somewhat clumsily reaches for Scott, tries to encourage him come closer, to lie fully on him. He manages a weak tug on his shoulders. “Fuck me. Please, please fuck me.”_

_Scott’s mouth swoops down to capture Mitch’s, possessive and filthy, and he settles down onto him, hands sliding under his back. It traps Mitch’s rapidly filling cock between their stomachs, a fact he sincerely appreciates once Scott starts moving again in earnest._

_Scott breaks their kiss a moment later, breath panting across Mitch’s skin as his lips trace up his jaw. “So pliant, baby. Slid into you so easy. Hot and_ _fucking perfect.”_

_“Yes.” Mitch is starting to feel more awake now, more in control of his limbs. He wraps his legs around Scott, hooks his ankles together and uses them to pull him even deeper with every thrust.  “Fuck, yes.”_

_Scott hums softly as he nuzzles into Mitch’s throat. “Get a good hold around my neck.”_

_“What?”_

_“Hold on tight, baby.”_

_Mitch is having trouble understanding why, but does as he’s told. Once he’s got a good grip, Scott starts to shift, planting one hand in the mattress by Mitch’s shoulder, sliding the other more fully under his back. He adjusts his knees and then Mitch is_ _lifted, pulled off the bed and into the air. He tightens his arms and legs around Scott’s body, clinging tightly as he tries to sort out what’s happening. It’s disorienting, but a second later and Mitch is wound tight around a kneeling Scott, sitting secure in his arms and in his lap and on his cock._

_He gasps as Scott pulls him into a kiss._

_“That’s it,” Scott says, licking into his mouth. He shifts Mitch’s weight once, probably trying to get more comfortable on his knees, and then his hands start to wander. “Wanted_ _see more of you, touch more of you.”_

_Mitch has never been so turned on by being manhandled as he is with Scott. He’s also never gone from soft to achingly hard and leaking so fast in his life. He forces himself to release his death grip around Scott’s neck and lets his own hands wander, one tangling in Scott’s hair and the other cupping his jaw._

_Scott groans in response, deepening their kiss. His hands settle on Mitch’s hips and force them into a roll, which Mitch is more than happy to continue. He doesn’t have much leverage, can’t get more than a shallow grind going, but_ _what he can manage is shifting Scott’s cock perfectly inside him. Scott, meanwhile, has spread his palms wide across Mitch’s ass and is tilting his own hips to accentuate every small thrust._

_This is not going to take long. “I…I’m close.”_

_“Yeah?” One of Scott’s big hands lets go of his butt to skim across his abdomen, teasing all around but not touching his straining cock. “This really does it for you, doesn’t it?”_

_You could say that. “Fuck yes.”_

_“But I’m not ready for you to come.” Scott’s fingers are now tracing their way up Mitch’s v-line, circling around the jut of one hip. “Wanna play with you some more.”_

_That sounds…that sounds both amazing and frustrating. “Please.” He whines, squirming as Scott teases his way up his ribs. It tickles. “Unh, please Scotty.”_

_Scott groans again and his thumb traces around Mitch’s nipple. “Yeah, you like to beg.” He nips at the underside of Mitch’s jaw with his teeth. “Maybe if you beg pretty enough I’ll give in.”_

_Mitch can totally beg pretty enough. “Please.” He tilts Scott’s head back and brushes his lips over Scott’s, not quite kissing him. “Please touch me. Want your big hand on me so bad. Please.”_

_Scott grins and bites his lip, eyes locked on Mitch’s mouth. “Think you can come untouched? Maybe we should try. Could take a while but I bet it’d be beautiful.”_

_No. No he can’t and no they shouldn’t. “I can’t. Please touch me. I can’t.”_

_“Mmm.” The hand Scott has on his ass tightens, encouraging a faster grind. His other hand starts a slow trail back down Mitch’s torso, stopping just below Mitch’s belly button to tease small circles in his skin. “I bet you could.” His fingers finally find Mitch’s cock, but his touch is_ _still feather light. Fleeting. “But maybe we’ll work up to that.”_

_Mitch glances down. The sight of Scott’s hand teasing over him, not quite touching him_ _, is agonizing. “Please, Scott. I need it. Need you.”_

_A thumb slides over his balls, and two fingers brush up the entire underside of his cock. “What will you do for me if I do?”_

_Fuck, anything. At this point, just about anything. “I, uh.” Mitch is having trouble thinking, but a glance back to Scott’s face finds him staring at Mitch’s mouth again. “I’ll get on my knees. Blow you, nice and slow. However you want, for as long as you want.”_

_Scott smirks as he meets Mitch’_ _s eyes. His middle finger skims a circle around Mitch’s slit, then an even lighter one around the whole head of his cock. “Oh, Mitch. You’re going to be doing that anyway.”_

_It’s the sincerity in Scott’s voice, the utter confidence in his assertion, that makes Mitch come, suddenly and without warning, all over himself._

_Scott just laughs and tilts his hips, grinding up into Mitch in short, sharp thrusts until he comes himself, a smug smile on his face the whole damn time._

***

Scott is suitably angered by Mitch’s story from the night before, tutting over Mitch’s still-drying, gutted deck and promising to have all his friends boycott Scion for the rest of eternity. And considering how many industry friends Mitch’s favorite social butterfly seems to have, that might have an acceptable level of impact.

But speaking of social butterflying: “I know you’ve probably made a ton of really great plans, but I don’t…I don’t really want to deal with other people today. Can we just stay in?”

Scott looks torn. “Um, well the art thing you wanted to see can definitely be postponed, it’s open another two months.  I’d just planned on grabbing lunch somewhere by the gallery. But, uh, I made a reservation for Surfait’s set menu tonight that I’m probably going to have to pay for anyw—” Mitch’s face must betray how absolutely done he is with humanity though, because after another look Scott cuts himself off. “Yeah. We can absolutely stay in.”

Oh, but ouch. Surfait is expensive and nearly impossible to get into and Scott probably had to arrange it like the day after New Year’s in order to secure a table for February 14th. Which is sweet and romantic and endearing and as much as Mitch would like for it to, doesn’t change a damn thing regarding his need to hermit. 

However, he might have an idea.  “Can I borrow your phone?”

Scott looks perplexed, but it’s gratifying how quickly he unlocks it and hands it over. Mitch looks up Surfait’s number and hits the call button, clearing his throat as it rings.

He rolls his eyes at the friendly but still somehow snooty greeting of the maître d’, and then says in his best straight voice. “Hey, uh hi. I need to…” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I need to cancel a reservation for tonight. Under Hoying? For... For two.”

“Just a moment please.” There’s the sound of some keys tapping and then she comes back. “I can do that, Mr. Hoying. But the $250 deposit is non-refundable.”

Jesus Christ. If he can’t pull this off, he’ll have to suck it up and go out, because there’s no way he’s making Scott eat that bill with nothing to show for it. “Look, that’s a really unusual policy. You’ll be able to fill the table in no time, especially toni—”

“I’m sorry sir, but as stated on your confirmation, the deposit is non-refundable.”

Right, sure. Why not? Apparently it’s their day for getting screwed over by venue owners with more greed than sense. Any guilt he feels for the lie he’s about to tell evaporates completely.

He heaves a sigh. “Yeah, okay. That’s…that’s what I thought. I mean, I’m already out nine thousand for the ring she didn’t want.” He throws in a sniffle for good measure. “What’s another $250?”

“Oh!” says the woman on the line, voice softening out of her overly professional tone into something more human. “Oh, your fian— uh, I mean your, um…she turned you down?”

Mitch fakes a self-deprecating chuckle. Sniffs again. “Yeah. Apparently she was waiting until after Valentine’s to tell me she’s leaving me for her boss, but with my proposal...” He lets his voice trail off in sniffle, letting her imagination fill in the story from there.

It seems to worrk, because she says “Just hang on a second, okay?” and he’s suddenly listening to the same overrated hold music every trendy ass place in LA seems to purchase these days.

Scott is staring at him with this strange mixture of disbelief and awe and somehow still managing to look delicious while doing it. Mitch may not want to go out today, but at this point he most sincerely wants to go down. He lets his eyes travel down the length of Scott’s body, lingering on his skinny jeans and the soft bulge at the front of them. Such thoughtful planning needs some sort of reward, after all.

***

_Mitch is on his knees, naked, on the living room floor in front of Scott who, apart from his open fly, is fully dressed and sitting on the couch. It would be exactly perfect if Scott’s dick was already in Mitch’s mouth instead of just tantalizingly close. Instead, Mitch is waiting, hands not-so-patiently resting on Scott’s thighs, staring at it. One of Scott’s hands is holding his phone to his ear. His other is around the base of his dick, holding it firm and steady and sadly just a bit too far away from Mitch’s mouth._

_“Yeah, the gluten free crust. Is that really thin or..?”_

_Scott lets go briefly. Lets the head of his cock fall and bounce against Mitch’s lips for a second. Lets Mitch feel and smell and_ almost _taste him before taking hold of himself and pulling just far enough away to be out of reach_ _again._

_“Great, I’d like extra cheese on it please.”_

_Mitch shifts on his knees. Licks his lips. Moans at the taste of the tiny morsel of pre-come his tongue finds on them. He glances up at Scott to find him staring at him hungrily, a sharp contrast to the easy, polite tone he’s managing to keep in his voice. But Mitch can’t distract himself from the treat right in front of him for long enough to really appreciate Scott’s ability to compartmentalize._

_He wants to taste it. So bad. Feels the need for it throb through his own cock, hard and aching and abandoned in his lap._

_It plays out like this a few more times, Mitch dying by inches and Scott tormenting them both until Scott eventually says “Forty-five minutes is fine, thank you.” He hangs up the phone and fiddles with it for a second before placing it face up on the arm of the couch._

_Then he rubs his thumb across Mitch’s bottom lip, fingers spreading wide to support his jaw. His eyes are as dark as Mitch has ever seen them. “Go ahead and lick, baby. Show me what that tongue can do.”_

_Mitch does, pulling himself forward the inch required using his grip on Scott’s thighs. He starts tentatively, licking across the tip, chasing the remaining precome still lingering there. Then he goes for it, swirling around the head in earnest, trailing down to lap at the base and over Scott’s balls before dragging his tongue back up to start again._

_It’s so good, and Scott’s soft groans and sighs and grunts are beautiful. Make him feel powerful._

_On the fifth or sixth go, he changes it up. He’s still technically licking, his tongue is peeking out just far enough to keep contact. But he’s also dragging his cheek up the length of Scott’s shaft, his stubble tugging along sensitive skin. When he reaches the top, he lets his lips part and his head drop back, eyes falling closed as Scott’s dick slides back down across his jawline._

_“Jesus,” Scott whispers. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”_

_Mitch can’t help but open his eyes and smile, preening at the praise and leaning back into the hand Scott still has on the back of his head to look up at him._

_“Yeah, you know you’re good,” Scott says, smiling slightly. He steadies his cock with his offhand as he pulls Mitch back onto him with the other. “Take me in, Mitch. Nice and slow. Just suckle around the head for now.”_

_Mitch obeys eagerly, sealing his lips around the flared rim of Scott’s dick and sucking lightly. He’s rewarded by another drop of precome bursting across his tongue and moans in contentment. It feels good and right and it’s exactly what he needs right now._

_Mitch is ambitious. Talented. H_ _e has a lot of personal interests, a full and satisfying life, and a love of good sex that has nothing to do with position or power dynamic. But sometimes it feels like he was just made for this. Made to be used in whatever way a trusted lover—Scott—desires. Made to drift and fly and kneel all day, every day, and well into every night with nothing to worry about except pleasing the one who keeps him there._

_He wouldn’t want it like that for real, of course. Not for longer than a few hours. But the fantasy is delicious and it’s easy to fall into it when_ _the big, handsome lover he’s peering up at seems to appreciate the thought as much as he does._

_“That’s it,” Scott says, fingers tracing Mitch’s lips and smoothing across his face. “Faster now. As deep as you can.”_

_Which is not very, Mitch has to admit. His cock sucking abilities are something he takes pride in, but he’s never going to win awards for deep throating. Still, if the way Scott’s head falls back and his breathing quickens is any indication, he’s extremely happy with Mitch’s skills just as they are. It’s thrilling; knowing he can make Scott feel like this, make him helpless with just his lips and tongue and intent._

_Scott’s other hand settles on Mitch’s head, bracketing his face and holding him still. He doesn’t push himself deeper, doesn’t try to override Mitch’s limits or preferences, but he does take control of both the rhythm and force, easing his cock in and out of Mitch’s mouth exactly as he wants._

_Mitch is more than happy to forfeit the last of the control in exchange for relief of the responsibility. His eyes close and he relaxes into it, revels in it, sinks deep and lets it embrace him._

_Scott must sense it happen. “There you go. That’s it.” He speeds up, thrusting faster and faster, groaning softly at each push of his cock past Mitch’s lips. He’s still talking, breathless and rushed, although Mitch can’t quite parse what he’s saying. Only catches hints of his meaning. Good and pretty and baby and fuck and yes and—_

_And then Scott pulls away. His hands let go, his cock is gone._

_Mitch sways, off-balance. Waits._

_He expects to feel the warmth of Scott’s come splatter across his face. Expects it to drip across his nose and over his eyebrow, sacred and filthy. Expects to be able to smell it. Taste it, if he’s lucky. Savor it._

_But when it fails to happen after several seconds, he tentatively opens his eyes. What he finds is Scott trembling in his seat, head thrown back. Teeth clenched. Hands tightened into fists. It takes Mitch a long moment to figure out what’s happening._

_Scott…Scott’s denied his own orgasm. It’s probably both the hottest and most confusing thing Mitch has ever seen._

_Scott swallows harshly and licks his lips. Exhales. Inhales. Exhales again._

_When he finally opens his eyes, he leans down and kisses Mitch, a gentle press of lips before he sits back up and glances at his phone. Then he’s reaching for him once more. “Again, baby,” he says, brushing the bangs away from Mitch’s forehead. “ Just your tongue for now.”_

_Oh. Oh fuck, yes._

***

Scott’s expression is rapidly losing its disbelief and sharpening into something more predatory, which Mitch _really_ appreciates, when the woman comes back on the line. “Hello, Mr. Hoying?”

Shit. Get in character, Mitch. “Yeah?”

A few minutes later, Mitch has the hold on Scott’s credit card cancelled, the restaurant’s deepest sympathies, and a coupon code for a high end pizza delivery place run by the maître d’s cousin.

God, he’s good, if he does say so himself. And that felt fucking fantastic. Not as good as screwing the owner of Scion would, but still very satisfying.

“My hero,” Scott says, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the crook of his neck. “That was so hot.”

Mitch happily leans into the hug, tilting his head to encourage some affection. “She’s an actress.”

“She’s amazing.” Scott agrees, obediently nibbling his way up the line of Mitch’s throat.  Then he pulls back to squint at him. “And she’s never allowed to lie to me because she’s far too good at it.”

Mitch wrinkles his nose, peering up at Scott through his lashes. “That’s not an order you’re allowed to give.”

And it’s not. They’ve discussed everything either of them could think of concerning the power dynamics and limits of their budding relationship, and neither one of them is interested at all in extending their games beyond the bedroom. Well, beyond sex, that is. There’s already been plenty of game ‘extension’ to other locations besides the bedroom.

The point is Scott can’t order Mitch around when it doesn’t involve one or both of them getting off.

Scott nods acceptance of the rebuke and returns to kissing Mitch’s neck.

“But I’d really, really like to be ordered around right now.” Mmm, yes. Exactly what he needs. “You could take me down and order me around all day.”

“Love to take you down,” Scott agrees, dragging his teeth more firmly along sensitive skin. “What kinds of orders did you have in mind?”

“You could tell me what to wear,” Mitch says, gasping when Scott bites down. “Where to be. When to come.”

“Oh, what to wear is easy,” Scott says, hands trailing along Mitch’s waist and then plucking at the bottom of his T-shirt as he starts crowding him towards the bedroom. ”Absolutely nothing, so I can appreciate and access every part of you whenever I like.”

Mitch can live with that. His dick is hardening already at the thought of being naked and vulnerable all day long.

Scott kisses him roughly and then pulls the shirt over Mitch’s head, still walking him backwards. “And where to be is obviously on my cock. I want some part of you on me every time I get hard today. Your hands, your mouth, your ass. All of it.”

Another plan Mitch is on board for. They should get started on that right away. He reaches for Scott’s belt, pulling it free just as they reach the bedroom.

“And as for coming,” Scott continues, tumbling Mitch backwards onto the bed and climbing on top of him. “If you’re good, I’m thinking that’ll be over and over as many times as you can”.

Oh look. Complete agreement on three for three.

***

_Scott times it perfectly, coming long and hard down Mitch’s throat only a few moments before Mitch’s iPhone rings. Scott answers it after checking the screen, breathing hard and kissing Mitch’s mouth whenever he can between his croaked “Hello?” and “Yeah, come on up.”_

_He presses another kiss to Mitch’s lips and then gets up, tucking himself back into his pants as he steps around where Mitch is still kneeling naked on the floor._

_Mitch watches him hazily, noting his actions but not really taking anything in about what they might mean. It doesn’t matter. Scott will take care of it, whatever it is._

_Scott walks over to the door, makes eye contact with Mitch, and then comes back. He pushes Mitch’s head down, gently, until he’s resting against the seat of the couch. “Stay there, baby._ _Stay down just like that_ _and relax for me.”_

_Mitch can do that. He doesn’t know why he needs to, but it’s kind of comfortable, so he’s fine with it. Well, except that the sudden lack of distraction means he’s becoming painfully aware of the erection he’d previously been able to ignore._

_Scott heads back over to the door just in time to answer a knock. Then he’s talking to someone, a voice Mitch doesn’t recognize. It’s soothing; Scott’s friendly Texan baritone interspersed with a solicitous bass in a foreign accent Mitch can’t quite place. It takes him a ridiculously long time to realize that he’s naked and hard, kneeling on the floor of his own living room, hidden behind a couch with nothing else but open air and Scott between him and a complete stranger._

_That should…that should bother him maybe? Except the only part that does is the agonizingly strong throb that pulses through his dick at the thought. He sucks in a breath to keep from moaning and grabs hold of both ends of the couch cushion his head is resting on, trying to ground himself._

_It helps a bit, staring at the fabric of the cushion, watching it wrinkle and smooth as he clenches and unclenches his hands along its edges. His breathing is shallow and harsh and he hopes it can’t be heard from the doorway…while simultaneously hoping that it can._

_He feels exposed like this. Vulnerable. But also so very cherished and safe. He can’t even think how Scott knew this would do it for him, fuck him up like this, but he clearly did and that thought just makes it all..._ more _._

_The conversation wraps up quickly after that; Scott politely thanking the stranger. Mitch heaves another shuddering breath as the door closes, but Scott doesn’t return right away. Instead, Mitch can hear him puttering around in the kitchen and then making a quick detour down the hall towards Mitch’s bedroom._

_By the time he does finally make his way back into the living room, Mitch is a fucking mess. He’s hard—he’s so fucking hard—and Scott’s soft hum of approval sends another throb through his straining dick._

_“God, so good. Sit up for me?”_

_Mitch does, though it’s a struggle to let go of the cushion. Once he’s kneeling upright again, he looks up at Scott, who’s stepping around him to sit back down on the couch. He has a plate of pizza slices in one hand, a bottle of water in the other, and something tucked under his arm, all of which he sets down beside him._

_Scott smiles and reaches down for him, tugging gently on his arm and the back of his head. “C’mere.”_

_It takes a second for Mitch to understand what Scott’s asking, but once he figures it out he’s happy to climb up and into Scott’s arms. Scott settles him sideways across his lap, supporting his back with one hand and tracing up his thigh with the other. The contrast of Scott’s smooth hands and the coarseness of his jeans against the skin of his ass makes Mitch shiver._

_“Shit, are you cold? I’m so sorry, Mitch.”_

_Mitch isn’t cold, but Scott’s already reaching for the blanket draped across the back of the couch and the thought of being snuggled under it with him is too good to rectify. What he doesn’t anticipate is how the cotton will feel on his oversensitive skin though, sliding over his legs and pooling around his cock. He shudders with want._

_“Scott. I need…Please, I need—”_

_“You need to eat,” Scott says, pulling the plate closer. His legs shift under Mitch’s ass and the friction doesn’t help any part of his situation in the slightest. “You haven’t eaten anything but chocolate all day.”_

_Not entirely accurate. “Drank your come.”_

_That earns him a laugh and a long kiss, long fingers sliding across Mitch’s jaw. “Yeah, you did.” Scott licks into his mouth once more, like he’s chasing the taste. “And I have to admit I don’t know the nutritional value of spunk, but I’m pretty sure it’s not sufficient.”_

_That is not the point. “I need to come.”_

_“I know.” Scott kisses him softly again, then reaches for a slice of pizza. “And I’ll get you there. But you need to eat first.”_

_Eat first. If he eats he’ll get to come. And he_ is _hungry._

_Mitch opens his mouth and takes a bite, letting the flavors burst across his tongue. It’s good. Very good. If he was in a different frame of mind he might take his time and really savor it. But currently it’s just an obstacle he needs to overcome so Scott will let him come. He swallows thickly and takes another bite._

_“Mmm, good boy,” Scott whispers, nuzzling his nose across Mitch’s cheek. “Keep going. And stay hard for me.”_

_Oh_ God _._

_“If you eat two pieces and stay hard, I’ll get you off when you’re done.” Scott’s teeth nip at Mitch’s earlobe, biting and tugging before soothing the sting with his tongue. “Nice and slow. Slide my hand right under this blanket and around your pretty cock.”_

_Mitch can’t help but squirm at the words, and Scott shushes him, pressing another bite to his lips._

_“You’ll need to hold still for me, baby. So good and still. Let me jerk you so gently. Let the wave of it build and ebb so slowly inside you that when it finally crests, you’ll come with just a beautiful sigh between one breath and another.”_

_Mitch isn’t going to live that long. “I’ll be so good.”_

_“I know you will,” Scott says, nuzzling across his cheek again. “Eat, baby.”_

_Mitch eats. And when he finally comes, clinging to Scott’s shoulders but otherwise limp as a ragdoll, Scott’s slick hand moving over him as gently as promised and soft praise flowing across his ear, his sigh is more of a sob, but it sounds beautiful even to him._

_***_

“Mitch?” says a familiar voice, pulling him from a deep, pleasant sleep. “Mitch, you need to wake up.”

No, he doesn’t.

“Mitch? C’mon, I know you can hear me.”

Can’t prove anything.

A hand smooths through his hair. That part is nice. What’s less nice is when he flips on the lamp beside the bed.  “Please, Mitch. For me?”

_That_ is not fair. “Mrgh. Don’t wanna. You wore me out.”

Scott huffs a laugh.  “I know. But your manager is blowing up your phone. In my experience, that’s usually something important.”

Oh, _now_ Javier wants to talk?

“Mitch!”

“I’m up.”

“Are you?” Scott asks, smile still clear in his voice.

Ha. Funny.

Mitch blindly holds out his hand for the phone and Scott gives it too him. A quick squint—ow—at the screen confirms he’s missed nine texts and three calls from Javier over the past couple of hours. He huffs in annoyance and thumbs his contact to call him back.

It’s picked up after just one ring.

“Please tell me you’re repeatedly calling at nearly midnight on Valentine’s Day to tell me how you got my money out of that prick of a club owner and not because you’re a recently-divorced asshole who’s out to ruin my date?” Mitch says as a conversation opener.

Scott snorts and then covers his mouth with his hand. He points his thumb at the bedroom door with a raised eyebrow, but Mitch shakes his head. He doesn’t need privacy for this conversation. Scott nods and pulls out his own phone, giving at least the illusion of it.

“Gee, I wish all my clients were as pleasant as you.” Javier drawls in his ear. There’s a moment of silence, probably as he takes a drag on the cigarette that’s perpetually in his mouth whenever he can get away with it. “I’m still working the payment issue. But in related news, it turns out Zedd was at Scion last night. He wants to meet you.”

Mitch’s brain stutters to a halt. “I’m sorry, what?”

Scott glances over, but quickly returns to his phone. He’s clearly trying very hard to look like he’s not listening to every word.

“Zedd,” Javier repeats. “Famous producer? Russian German guy? Name sounds like a Canadian who actually managed to get to the end of the alphabet?”

Javier’s ex is from Halifax; he’s extended his bitterness towards her entire birth country. Jav’s a good manager and a decent friend, but Mitch has the utmost respect for her wisdom in dumping his sorry ass as a husband.

“Yes, shockingly I know who Zedd is,” is how he decides to respond. “I’m stuck on the part where he wants to meet me.”

That gets Scott’s attention. He’s openly staring now, wide-eyed and not even pretending to ignore the conversation.

“He thinks you’re very talented and he was even more impressed when he heard about your turntable spill.”

“It wasn’t my spill,” Mitch snaps, but then lets the warm glow building in his chest overtake his momentary irritation. There’s nothing quite like having someone you admire compliment you on their area of expertise. “He said I’m talented?”

“He enjoyed the whole set, but he really loved the last hour with all the finger drumming and new music. And may I congratulate you on both being a musical genius and also being my client?”

Mitch is going to die. His little fanboy heart is going to explode. “He liked my music? _My_ music?”

Scott is fucking grinning. Big and beautiful and proud. Mitch absently notes that the dishevelled hair and wide smile combination is a fantastic look on him that should be thoroughly explored later. Mitch can’t help but smile back, although most of his energy is being spent trying not to stroke out.

“He did,” Javier confirms. “He also wants to know who the singer was on the second last track you played. You been doing collaborations without telling me again?”

Oops. “Um, sort of? It’s not finished yet; I was just running out of things I could freestyle and wanted to see if people would like it. I’m not releasing anything without your input.”

“But you _are_ working with artists I don’t know about.”

Mitch is getting irritated again. “I don’t need your permission every time I mess around in a studio with my boyfriend.” Huh, that came out wrong.

Accurate though.

Scott’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s now the topic of conversation.

“Your boyfriend.” Javier’s tone is getting that high-pitched whine it always does when Mitch truly exasperates him. “Your new boyfriend has a voice that can capture a world-famous producer’s attention based off a _sample_ and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I told you his name and that you should check out his work,” Mitch points out. “You assuming I was thinking with my dick is your own fault.”

Scott snorts again.

There’s a slight pause. “Touché.” Mitch can hear the repetitive flicking sound of Javier’s shitty antique lighter failing to ignite another smoke. “Zedd’s having a get together in a couple of weeks with some friends and a few up-and-comers who have caught his attention. He wants you to come and said you can bring a plus one if you like. I heavily suggest that plus one be your apparently talented boyfriend.”

Mitch is having a hard time not physically vibrating with excitement like a complete idiot. He does manage to get the details and the promise of more information later from Javier, and then hangs up in a daze. It takes him a minute to remember that it’s the middle of the night, that he’s still rather mundanely sitting in his own bed, and that Scott is probably dying of curiosity beside him.

He’s totally going to get to make up for forgetting about their Valentine’s date though.

“So, hey,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can manage. He thinks it’s a pretty good impression, although maybe his voice is a bit strained. “Wanna come party at Zedd’s house with me?”

“You…I…Zedd…” Scott’s apparently lost the ability to speak. “Um, what?”

As much as Mitch enjoys dominant, controlled, focused Scott—and he really, _really_ does—he thinks stuttering, awkward, emotionally flailing Scott might be his favorite.

“He likes your voice.”

Nope. Open-mouthed, goldfish-impersonating Scott is his favorite.

Mitch has to laugh. Best boyfriend ever.

**Thoughts?**


End file.
